


What Is Owed, and What Is Given

by KitCat_Italica



Series: What Is Owed, and What Is Given [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: All The Noncon Happened There, Anal Fingering, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Caring Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley Was Captured By Hell After Armageddon, Crowley Whump (Good Omens), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Enthusiastic Consent, Fluff, Given The Circumstances They're Both Trying Their Best, Graphic Descriptions of Past Injuries, Healthy Communication, Hurt Crowley (Good Omens), Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Never Between Aziraphale and Crowley, Or At Least The Happy Work-In-Progress, Panic Attacks, Past Rape/Non-con, Porn with Feelings, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rape Aftermath, Rape Recovery, Recently-Established Relationship, Rimming, Tender Sex, This Whole Fic Is The Happy Ending, Touch-Starved Crowley (Good Omens), and they make it work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-05
Updated: 2020-07-05
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:07:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25076611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KitCat_Italica/pseuds/KitCat_Italica
Summary: Aziraphale looked at Crowley.Reallylooked at him.  He was asking Aziraphale to help him try something new, something that might scare him no matter how much he wanted it.  But even with that vulnerability, he wastrustingAziraphale with this.  Trusting Aziraphale to catch him if he fell.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: What Is Owed, and What Is Given [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1942459
Comments: 17
Kudos: 280





	What Is Owed, and What Is Given

**Author's Note:**

> This is what I write when I'm recovering from thyroid surgery, only to get sick with a virus that may or may not be corona-shaped. (Still waiting on COVID test results.) I have been cooped up and running on fumes and Tylenol for 2 weeks now. 
> 
> so here, have some tender post-torture sex, as a treat

Aziraphale woke slowly. Sleep hadn’t been his indulgence of choice for most of his tenure on Earth, but that had changed in the last two years. There was a… _different appeal_ to it these days.

He saw the benefits now. Hearing the birds outside the window greeting him back into the world again. The utter stillness and peace. The softness and near-stifling warmth of being buried in blankets and pillows.

And, of course, the demon sleeping in his arms.

Aziraphale smiled softly at the mess of red hair tucked under his chin. With each breath Aziraphale took, a tuft of Crowley’s hair would sway close to his nose, only to blow back on the exhale. He pressed Crowley closer, soaking in the scents of his beloved friend. The spice of his shampoo, with his own earthy smoke underneath. 

He didn’t smell like garden-variety evil, the way other demons did. Crowley had spent too much time on Earth for that. To Aziraphale, this scent was _home._

__

__

Aziraphale had grown used to several new experiences in the last two years. Sleeping each night like humans did. Having semi-regular chats with the Almighty, assuring him and Crowley of Her continued protection. Knowing that their former employers would never come near them again.

But most miraculous of all? Loving Crowley openly without a shred of fear. Being able to look at him, _really_ look at him, and think without rationalizations that _Yes, he is beautiful._ Living together, so they wouldn’t have to part at the end of the day. Offering him gifts, sweet smiles, and soft words, and being able to accept the same. Holding his hand, holding _him,_ sharing kisses, caresses, and tender declarations, _in their shared bed._

__

__

Aziraphale might’ve once been surprised with how easily he’d taken to this open affection. But after the events of the last six years, he’d sorted out his priorities once and for all.

xxx

He’d lost Crowley. Captured by Hell and Heaven, only a month after the failed Apocalypse. They'd nearly captured Aziraphale, too, and would have, if Crowley hadn't warned him in time to go into hiding. 

For three years, Aziraphale hid, and searched. He didn't know if Crowley had managed to evade Heaven and Hell and was waiting for him on Earth, so he'd started there. But it quickly became clear that something much worse had happened.

Aziraphale’s choice had been clear: surrender and flee the planet, abandoning Crowley to his fate; or place himself in danger, risking _everything_ he was, to attempt rescuing Crowley and bring him home.

xxx

Crowley shuffled closer to Aziraphale in his sleep. He mumbled something incoherent. Nuzzled into Aziraphale’s neck.

Aziraphale smiled. He knew he’d made the right choice.

xxx

Of course, that hadn’t meant it had been _easy._ Aziraphale had only been to Hell once, and never in his own body. Infiltrating the place had taken a year of careful planning, and had nearly gotten him killed.

Then there was the matter of his flaming sword. Not just tracking it down from the International Express Company (although finding their phone number had taken some work). He hadn’t actually _used_ the Heavenly weapon in over six thousand years. He’d never once killed anything, with the sword or by any other means.

Now, he’d killed seven demons. 

Before all this, he would have been horrified at his actions. Even now, he would on occasion feel a twinge of doubt that such extreme measures had been the right thing to do. But every time that happened, he would look over at Crowley, curled up in bed or on the sofa, or walking beside him as they left a restaurant, and remember how his beloved best friend had quivered in terror when he’d finally found him in Hell, how badly he’d been bleeding, how deep the holy sigils had been branded into his flesh, how dark the finger-shaped bruises had been on his hips, how he would wake up screaming from horrific nightmares for months afterward, how he would tremble in Aziraphale’s arms from random panic attacks, how he would shout in jagged rage or weep broken whimpers into Aziraphale’s chest, recounting details of how they had tortured, raped, and desecrated him for _four bloody years—_

__

__

That would silence any doubts about killing seven of Crowley’s captors. Instead, it made Aziraphale wish he had killed even _more._

__

__

xxx

But killing demons or angels would not have helped Crowley these last two years. He’d needed Aziraphale’s comfort, companionship, patience, and love. Fortunately, Aziraphale had been supplying those medicines to Crowley for six thousand years, and he had yet to run out of stock. For Crowley, he doubted he ever would.

So, after a harrowing four years on the run, Aziraphale had spent the last two years in the bookshop, almost entirely shut out from the rest of the world, helping Crowley feel safe again. And a great deal of that, he’d learned, involved physical affection they’d never before had the leeway to express.

At first, it had been tentative. He wasn’t even sure if Crowley wanted to be touched at all, after what he’d endured. But Crowley had let him know in no uncertain terms that, _because_ of what he’d endured, the answer to ‘Do I want my best friend to cradle me and stroke my back as I fall asleep in his bed?’ was a resounding _Yes, PLEASE._

__

__

The more he learned of what Crowley had suffered, the more he wanted to replace the cruelty with gentleness. And the longer they engaged in the affection, the more he realized Crowley didn’t want him to ever _stop._

__

__

Once he’d learned Crowley had never taken human lovers before— _Didn’t bother,_ he’d mumbled one night, _Just wanted you, only ever wanted you_ —his craving for touch had made so much more sense. Crowley hadn’t just been deprived of physical affection while being tortured. He’d been starved of it _his entire life._

__

__

But where there had once been a desert, there was now a verdant garden, steadily watered each day by Aziraphale’s careful hands. And like a choking flower straining up toward the raindrops, it still startled Aziraphale just how often Crowley would lean into his caresses, as if it were the first time anyone had ever touched him gently.

Ordinary touch was one thing. But intimate touch— _sexual_ touch—was something else.

They’d taken their time arriving at this point—it had been months before Crowley had worked up to the comfort level needed to try kissing Aziraphale, and more than a year after that before they first tried anything below the belt. Now, they frequently shared in those joys together. But there were several boundaries they’d put in place early on, which were still in effect:

Crowley could never be face-down. He could never be on all fours, and never with Aziraphale behind him. He always had to _see_ Aziraphale face-to-face. 

Crowley didn’t want penetration of any kind. Aziraphale had expected this, but he’d been surprised when Crowley had specified he didn’t want to receive _or_ to give. Aziraphale had suspicions as to why—it was still too close to what Crowley’s torturers had done to him, and what they told him they would do to _Aziraphale_ once they’d caught him—but even if there were no reason at all, it was still something Aziraphale would abide by. So, no penetration. 

Crowley didn’t ever, under any circumstances, want Aziraphale to come on his face. The explanation of _why_ had nearly made Aziraphale vomit, and had sent Crowley into a panic attack. Suffice it to say, Aziraphale was never crossing this boundary. 

It had been difficult for Crowley to admit he wanted it gentle—even after being literally tortured by Hell, he still tried to save face for his demonic nature. _Doesn’t have to be that way forever,_ he’d mumbled, _we could…work our way up to something else…_ Aziraphale had just smiled, and reassured him that gentle lovemaking sounded perfect.

That eliminated a lot of activities. No hair-pulling. No manhandling. No playful swatting. No holding wrists above heads while they kissed. No gripping hips tight to keep them still. 

But, if it meant Aziraphale could help Crowley feel safe, and loved, and _cherished,_ as they explored each other’s bodies with hands and mouths; if it meant he could figure out what made Crowley gasp, and sigh, and shiver, and whisper _God, that feels so good, angel_ against his lips… 

It was more than worth it.

xxx

But last night, they’d done away with one of their rules. Aziraphale wasn’t sure if that change was here to stay, so he was savoring it this morning while it lasted.

While Crowley had been tortured, he’d been stripped naked, and they’d kept him that way for four years. Ever since, he’d had a difficult time being exposed in any way. Whether it was taking his clothes off, baring his neck, or leaving his back turned to a room—it made him squirm at best, and panic at worst.

For the last several months, they’d gotten around this by staying under the covers in their pyjamas, only undoing their trousers to take out the necessary bits for lovemaking. Aziraphale had touched Crowley’s skin under his clothes, had touched Crowley’s cock dozens of times now, but he hadn’t _seen_ him. (Not since he’d rescued him from Hell, and healed him once they’d returned to the bookshop. But that was such a different context it didn’t bear further comparison.)

So, when Crowley had started kissing him last night, answering the question _Do you want to make love?_ with the usual _Yeah,_ but then continuing with a nonchalant _We could take our clothes off too, if you’d like_ …Aziraphale had been understandably surprised.

But surprise quickly became enthusiasm, before he tried to restrain it to something less overwhelming. Crowley, however, had welcomed the passion—though he did look relieved when Aziraphale slowed the pace again.

They’d taken their time undressing each other. Aziraphale pressed gentle kisses and soft caresses to every new inch of skin revealed. Crowley, though his hands shook as he undid Aziraphale’s many buttons, had lightened the tension for himself when, upon seeing Aziraphale shirtless for the first time, sank into his chest with a groan of _Why are you so hot?_ Aziraphale had laughed, and pointed out that _I could say the same thing about you, dearest._ Crowley had just grumbled and kissed his collarbone.

The slower pace did allow Aziraphale to feast his eyes on Crowley’s body. They’d been at it for nearly half an hour by the time Crowley worked his jeans and pants off, naked as the day the Lord had made him, lying back on the bed with a I’m-trying-to-be-confident-but-this-is-kind-of-overwhelming look in his wide, vulnerable eyes.

Aziraphale had just stared for a second at how _beautiful_ Crowley was.

But he’d quickly gathered his wits, realizing that Crowley could easily tip into the _overwhelmed_ side of the scale the longer he was scrutinized. So instead, Aziraphale had unfurled his wings, mantling them over them both as he leaned over Crowley, brushing a lock of hair from his love’s forehead as he shielded them from the rest of the world. Crowley spread his wings too, making them both gasp when their sensitive feathers brushed together.

They each came within seconds of pressing their fully-bared skin against each other. 

But that didn’t stop them. The sexual urgency had dissipated, but the joy of physical touch was always there. Crowley quickly drew the blankets around them both. They huddled under the covers, kissing, caressing, whispering endearments and encouragement against each other’s lips. They followed the path of their desire until they found themselves hard again, and stroked each other to a second release.

Aziraphale had worried it would be too much for Crowley. But it had been _perfect._

__

__

xxx

And now, the next morning, Aziraphale woke with Crowley in his arms, both naked together for the first time. 

Aziraphale wasn’t sure what to do. Crowley might want to miracle their pyjamas on the second he woke up. But surely there was nothing wrong with enjoying this feeling until then?

So, Aziraphale leaned his cheek against Crowley’s hair, pressing kisses there every so often, and enjoyed it. He kept his touches to Crowley’s waist and shoulders, where his hands already rested. He relished the way their bodies would press slightly closer when they breathed in.

He couldn’t see anything of Crowley from his shoulders down, the way they were bundled under the blankets. But he could feel him. _All_ of him. Those miles of long legs, the wiry brush of his chest hair, the heat of their bodies pressed together in their cocoon. Their cocks lay soft against each other’s hips. (Aziraphale made sure to stay _very_ still; stimulating Crowley while asleep would be a horrid violation.)

He always tried to be careful of how he treated Crowley after rescuing him. Crowley wanted to be treated as something precious, but not as something _fragile._ His body was more than just something-that’s-been-abused. _I’m not just a torture victim,_ Crowley had once snapped at him. _Or a rape survivor, or whatever the Heaven they call it these days. It happened, yeah, and it fucked me up pretty bad, but if you want me to live the rest of my life, stop cramming me back in that box._

__

__

It was a fair point. And Aziraphale didn’t just see him as a survivor of horrific traumas. But the part of him that wanted to protect, to nurture, to _heal,_ kept wanting to cradle Crowley close and never let him go.

Making love with Crowley was one of the most sublime experiences he’d ever had. There was an old magic in the way they held each other, how gently they touched one another. There was such joy in Crowley’s eyes when Aziraphale caught his gaze during the act, in how his mouth fell slack with soft moans when Aziraphale cupped him in his hand. There was the thrill of mutual consent as they checked in with each other throughout their romps, whispering _Like that?_ and _Does that feel good?_ and _Keep going_ and _Oh, yes._ There was the sheer intimacy of how they stifled their cries when they came, keeping this height of pleasure as something no one else got to hear.

To think that, just over two years ago, demons and angels alike had twisted this act into something cruel. They’d forced Crowley into degrading positions, made him say and do humiliating things, taunted and mocked him, violently _torn_ into his body with theirs, made him cry and scream for it all to _stop…_

__

__

And those were only the details Crowley had shared with him. Aziraphale could only imagine what he _hadn’t_ shared.

So, as much as Crowley wasn’t just a rape survivor, and though his body was strong and powerful…Aziraphale would never forget how his body had been abused and ravaged. He wanted to shower Crowley with as much tenderness and affection as he could, as if that would blot out the memory of what had been done to him.

For now, with Crowley asleep and unable to complain about the mushiness, Aziraphale cradled him close like the most precious treasure in the world. (Which, of course, he was.) “My brave, darling boy,” he whispered into Crowley’s hair. He pressed a kiss against his crown. “Such strength you have. My dearest, do you have any idea how loved you are?”

Crowley burrowed closer. “M’gettin’ the idea.”

Aziraphale nearly startled. “How long have you been awake?” He tried not to sound petulant, but, well, Crowley could’ve said something!

Crowley’s answering chuckle vibrated under the hand on his back. “Few minutes. Wanted to see what you do while I’m sleeping.”

“And did I pass your test?”

Crowley yawned. Cuddled closer. “You always do.”

Aziraphale’s heart _melted._ He squeezed his arms tighter around Crowley, hugging him close. 

In doing so, their cocks brushed together, making them both gasp. Crowley drew back some, glancing downward. “Oh yeah. We’re naked.”

A beat. “Did you _forget?”_

__

__

“Well, kinda. Thought I was just warm.”

Aziraphale laughed. Crowley would never let him forget that he’d fallen in love with the most ridiculous creature in the universe. “Is that alright?”

“You tell me,” Crowley purred. He slithered up to meet Aziraphale in a soft, slow kiss. His hips, meanwhile, were also slow in their rhythm against Aziraphale’s. 

However, things down there were quickly becoming…not exactly _soft._

__

__

“Tell me what you want,” Aziraphale whispered. Lord, he was more breathless than he’d thought, and all they’d done was start rubbing on each other!

He felt Crowley smile against his lips. “Want _you.”_

__

__

Nimble hands started pulling on Aziraphale’s shoulders, encouraging him to roll over. That was another rule of their lovemaking, though an unspoken one. As Crowley was initiating this morning, it would’ve made sense for him to roll over on top of Aziraphale. But as that would involve him being face-down, with his back to the room, he never went into that position in their bed. Instead, he would coax Aziraphale to do the honors.

Aziraphale followed Crowley’s lead. He rolled on top of Crowley, tangling their legs together, pressing him down into the mattress with his weight. As always, Crowley gave an agreeable moan at the pressure. 

Aziraphale stilled his hips, and stopped the kisses. He took a moment to look at Crowley, sweeping his hair from his forehead. “You’re sure you’re alright, darling?”

Crowley’s eyes softened. For a second, he looked so vulnerable, sending a rush of affection through Aziraphale. _Of course I want to know you’re alright,_ his angelic heart whispered. _You’re not being used anymore. You’re with someone who loves you._

__

__

But Crowley’s veneer of teasing charm quickly resurfaced. “I’m about to get laid. Of course I’m alright.”

“You know what I mean.”

Crowley relented. “Yeah,” he said softly. “I’m okay.”

Aziraphale beamed. He returned to the kisses, gentle as the slow cadence of their hips. Crowley wrapped his arms around his back. Their heavy breaths and soft sighs filled the quiet of the room, set to the rhythmic rustling of the sheets as their bodies moved together. All that interrupted it was the staccato bursts of their lips’ occasional loud smacks.

Aziraphale was fully hard now. Crowley was too, he could feel it. “May I touch you?” he whispered.

“Yeah,” Crowley whispered back.

Aziraphale kissed him deeply. Crowley opened to his tongue, meeting it halfway with his own. 

Aziraphale didn’t go straight for his cock, though. He went for Crowley’s chest, running his fingers through the brush of red hair in the middle, grazing his nipples, feeling the flex of muscles and smooth skin. Before last night, he would’ve had to reach under Crowley’s shirt to feel this (and Crowley had let him many times). But feeling his skin against his own, without any barriers between them, was sheer _magic._

__

__

Crowley was taking advantage of this, too. His hands were roaming Aziraphale’s back, stroking the sides of his belly, clutching his hip to encourage his movements. Aziraphale was careful not to grab Crowley’s hips the same way—the memory of finger-shaped bruises there was enough to teach him caution about that.

He was running his hands lightly over Crowley’s sides, from armpits to hips and back up, when Crowley murmured, “You could play with my ass, if you’d like.”

Aziraphale stopped everything. He drew back some. “I beg your pardon?”

Crowley shrugged one shoulder. “Just, y’know, just a thought. If you want.”

Aziraphale was completely floored for an appropriate response.

They’d _never_ done anything in that arena. Hadn’t even come close. Aziraphale had never asked, and Crowley had never mentioned it. And it was _perfectly obvious_ why they hadn’t. Aziraphale could still remember how he’d infiltrated Hell, and _finally_ found Crowley in his cell, like it was yesterday. He remembered Crowley lying on his side in blessed chains, his back turned to the door, trembling as an angel approached him. He remembered the blood there, the _tearing_ there, _the streaks of dried white fluids there—_

__

__

And he could see Crowley now. He was being flippant about it, like it was a normal suggestion in bed, no big thing, as if he’d had an errant thought of what he’d wanted to try, and Aziraphale’s preference was what would decide this.

But Aziraphale _knew_ him. He knew how Crowley tended to rush headlong into things, only to find himself in over his head. He’d seen firsthand dozens of times how the smallest trigger—or even no discernable trigger at all—could send Crowley into a panic attack. 

And through Crowley’s nonchalance, he saw the nerves underneath it all.

“Crowley,” he hedged, “are you sure you’re alright?”

Crowley rolled his eyes. “Yes, I’m _fine._ Why?”

“It’s just—”

“Just what?”

Aziraphale sighed. “We just started doing this without clothes last night. I just want to be sure you’re not—”

“Not _what?”_ Crowley snapped. “Not rushing?”

Now Aziraphale was getting irritated. “Well, yes.”

Crowley scoffed. His jaw clenched. “ _Rushing._ Tell me, angel, what is an appropriate time for me to have healed enough to want my ass played with? In another six months, perhaps? Or a year? Two years? Or is that too soon in your schedule of Crowley’s Rape Recovery Timetable?”

“Crowley—”

“And what about getting me on all fours, making me say ‘I’m a slut for angel cock’ as you fuck me till I bleed, when have you penciled _that_ in?”

Something sick twisted in Aziraphale’s gut. He could feel his face set in stone. 

Crowley had never told him _that_ detail of what he’d suffered. 

He didn’t often tell Aziraphale about the specifics of his torture. When he did, it was usually when he’d cried himself out after a nightmare, or was about to start sobbing and couldn’t keep the memories locked in his head any longer. Sharing in that context was probably healthy for him.

But on rare occasions, Crowley would weaponize those details, and lash out with them when he was frustrated. 

Crowley closed his eyes as he winced. He took a long, slow breath through his nose. “I’m…” Another breath. “Sorry. That wasn’t…wasn’t fair to you.”

Aziraphale silently accepted the apology. He cupped Crowley’s cheek in his hand, stroking soothingly along his face. Crowley leaned into the caress. _I’m still here,_ Aziraphale was saying with the gesture. _What they did won’t frighten me away from you._

__

__

“It wasn’t fair to you, either,” Aziraphale said out loud, “for me to impose my expectations on you. I am still worried, though.”

Crowley sighed. “‘Bout what?”

“About _why_ you want to do this.”

Crowley slid his eyes open, glancing up at Aziraphale with suspicion. “What d’y’mean, _why?”_

__

__

Aziraphale had to take a second to choose his words carefully. “I hope it’s because you want to. I think it is. But I also worry it might be because you…”

Crowley raised his brow.

“…You want to prove something, to yourself, or to the universe. To prove that you _can._ Or…that you’re pushing yourself to do something you aren’t…” He had to cut himself off before the words _‘aren’t ready for’_ left his lips. From the way Crowley’s eyes narrowed, he’d heard them anyway. “Or that you’re trying to please me, at the expense of your own comfort. I don’t know—”

“So you’re worried I’m saying ‘yes’ on the outside, when on the inside, I’m feeling ‘no’?”

Aziraphale just nodded.

Crowley deflated underneath him. His head sank back against the pillows, gaze listing to the side. It was almost a sulk, but more defeated than sullen.

“I _want_ this,” he said quietly. “I want to have this with you. Have for a long time, actually.” Aziraphale didn’t comment on the blush rising on those sharp cheekbones. “Used to do it myself, and imagine it was your fingers there.”

Aziraphale smiled. “Oh?”

Crowley’s eyes closed. But he also started smiling faintly. “Yeah.”

Aziraphale stroked through Crowley’s hair again. Out of affection, yes, but in part to distract from the way his cock stirred again at the image brought to mind. Crowley, on a night when the loneliness and longing was just this side of too much, reaching down with fingers coated in whatever humans used for lubricant at that point in time. Stretching himself open with those clever digits, panting heavily, a rosy flush spreading down his chest. Quivering around his fingers as he spent over his own stomach, biting off cries of Aziraphale’s name.

Aziraphale knew what lonely nights were like. He hadn’t taken many human partners over his six thousand years, and seeking their company in bed hadn’t always been motivated by pining for his best friend. But eventually, the longer the affair wore on, he wouldn’t be able to enjoy their romps without imagining red hair gleaming above him, golden eyes meeting his, that low voice whispering _angel_ in his ear.

Aziraphale reached to Crowley’s jaw, encouraging him to meet his eyes again. “Why now?”

Crowley shrugged. “Just felt right. Felt really good last night, and now. Seemed as good a time as any to try something I want. Besides, I know it’ll be fine.”

“I’m glad you’re so certain,” said Aziraphale. (He tried not to emphasize the _‘you’re’,_ but there it was.)

Crowley gave him a tight smile. “You’re here, aren’t you?”

As it settled in what Crowley meant, Aziraphale felt all his energy sucked up into trying not to cry.

Crowley might be nervous, and might be doing this for multiple reasons. But he _knew_ it was going to be okay, that _he_ was going to be okay, even if he had a panic attack… 

_…because Aziraphale was here with him._

__

__

_“Crowley…”_ Aziraphale whispered. His voice was threatening to fall apart if he said anything further.

“You keep telling me I’m gonna be okay,” said Crowley. “Every time I can’t breathe, or have flashbacks, n’all that.” He smirked, though his eyes were starting to glisten. “I think I’m coming around to that idea.”

“Oh, my dearheart, you’re going to make me _cry.”_

__

__

“Guess the tables have finally turned.”

Aziraphale laughed. He wrapped Crowley up in the tightest hug he could manage. Crowley squeezed him back just as hard.

When they withdrew, they looked at each other for a second with gentle smiles. “So,” said Crowley, “want to try it?”

Aziraphale looked at Crowley. _Really_ looked at him. This kind-hearted demon had always been so generous to him, giving him comfort and courage when Heaven and Earth had none to offer. He had fought to keep himself sane for _four years_ of Hell’s (and Heaven’s) worst tortures. Yet every time they’d promised to stop if he would just tell them where Aziraphale might be hiding, he’d never once told them anything. He was easily the bravest and strongest being in this universe. 

And now, he was asking Aziraphale to help him try something new, something that might scare him no matter how much he wanted it. But even with that vulnerability, he was _trusting_ Aziraphale with this. Trusting Aziraphale to catch him if he fell.

Aziraphale nodded. “May I start again?”

Crowley answered him with a kiss. It started off small, but quickly grew, deeper and deeper until they were gasping. 

That kiss became two. Then three, then more, and more, and _more._ Aziraphale started rocking against Crowley again, running his hands over Crowley’s chest and stomach as they hardened against each other. Crowley met him with each movement, even as Aziraphale felt those slender hands shake with nerves as they grasped his shoulders.

“Shhh,” Aziraphale soothed. One hand stilled, just above Crowley’s pubic hair. Asking.

“Go ahead,” Crowley murmured.

It was always miraculous whenever Aziraphale wrapped a hand around Crowley. This time was no exception. Crowley’s breath hitched, his mouth parted in a silent moan, before the guttural sound escaped his throat.

Aziraphale drank it all in with a smile. “Yes, love,” he whispered. “That’s it. Let yourself feel good…”

He began stroking him under the covers. He had to admit, as much as he loved seeing all of Crowley, there was something special about doing this only by feel. Even if someone else were to walk in, they wouldn’t be able to _see_ what was happening. It felt like a great secret he and Crowley were telling each other: Aziraphale, with the gentle motions of his hand around the silky girth; Crowley, with his wide, enraptured eyes and small moans.

Of all the sexual acts Aziraphale had partaken in, sharing this with Crowley was easily the most intimate. It was trust incarnate. It was _joy_ incarnate.

“Good?” Aziraphale asked.

Crowley nodded, choking back another low moan. “Uh-huh,” was all he managed.

Aziraphale gave him one last, solid stroke from root to tip. Crowley keened at the back of his throat. Aziraphale knew by now he could have easily made Crowley come if he kept to this course, but they had other trails to blaze this morning.

So, he moved his hand lower, cupping Crowley’s balls, squeezing lightly. Crowley’s head fell further back as he heaved in breath.

When Aziraphale pressed a finger against the skin just behind his balls, Crowley whined, and… _let his legs fall open._

__

__

Aziraphale couldn’t believe how much trust Crowley was affording him now. He was letting Aziraphale access the most intimate parts of his human corporation, after only being brutalized by previous touches. 

Aziraphale took a breath to collect himself. “Dearest, can you look at me?”

It took a second, but Crowley obeyed. His eyes were wide as he met Aziraphale’s. His balls were still being fondled, one finger still resting against his perineum. There were few positions as vulnerable as this.

“Does this feel good?” Aziraphale asked softly.

Crowley nodded.

“Shall I keep going?”

Another nod.

Aziraphale released his balls. The finger at his perineum drifted down, until it dipped into the warm cleft below.

Aziraphale stilled at Crowley’s tremulous gasp. They hadn’t looked at each other this intensely since Tadfield Airbase six years ago, when Aziraphale had urged Crowley to come up with a plan before Satan destroyed them all. Just like in that moment, Aziraphale searched Crowley’s face for his reactions. Praying he could defy what Hell had done.

“Talk to me, Crowley,” he murmured.

Crowley was breathing hard. The rise and fall of his chest seemed such a fragile thing. Still, he managed a slight grin. “Good,” he said, “s’good.”

Aziraphale smiled. He inched his finger further down, exploring this part of Crowley’s body. There was coarse hair in there, protecting the delicate skin. He could feel how humid it was with his sweat. It didn’t feel dirty, though—as supernatural beings, they didn’t have to bother with certain aspects of hygiene. This would be a welcome change from the humans Aziraphale had dallied with.

And then, there it was. The point where the skin became hairless, and wrinkled, and _flexed_ under his touch.

Aziraphale didn’t plan to go inside. That seemed like too much, too soon. Instead, he miracled a small coating of lubricant onto his finger, and started rubbing that intimate place in light, easy circles.

Except for his audible breaths, Crowley had gone quiet. His moans were stuck in his throat again. Aziraphale could hear little _clicks_ in Crowley’s throat whenever one came close to escaping. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed.

Aziraphale stilled. His free hand stroked Crowley’s forehead, back through his hair. “Are you alright?”

Crowley nodded. “Mm-hm.” His voice sounded strained.

Sensing he needed some soothing, Aziraphale pressed a soft kiss to Crowley’s cheek. Crowley nuzzled against his face. It nearly startled Aziraphale with how tender the display of affection was, but he gladly returned it.

“Shall I keep going?” he asked.

“Mmm,” said Crowley.

Aziraphale kissed his chin. Down below, he rubbed his pointer and middle finger together, spreading the lubricant onto both. He returned with both fingers massaging slow circles over that most intimate area.

The room was silent, save for their breathing. Time seemed to stand still outside their cocoon. Aziraphale continued to rub his fingers over Crowley— _playing with his ass,_ as the demon had crudely termed it—while watching Crowley’s face intently for any sign of discomfort. 

Crowley was staring at the ceiling. His mouth parted slightly as he gave small grunts and stuttering cries. He didn’t look to be in any distress? It was hard to tell, honestly.

But just as Aziraphale opened his mouth to check in with Crowley again, his fingers accidentally caught on the rim of muscle, dangerously close to dipping inside. 

_“Don’t!”_ Crowley shouted. His hand shot under the covers, grabbing Aziraphale’s wrist.

“I-I’m so sorry!” Aziraphale stammered. “So sorry, my dear, my fingers slipped, I—”

Crowley was squeezing his eyes shut, hissing in breath. 

“Crowley?”

“Just…just give me a minute…”

Crowley puffed out a long breath. Aziraphale had seen this before: it was the calm before the storm, as Crowley tried to head off a panic attack before it reached him.

“Here,” said Aziraphale. He withdrew his fingers, removing Crowley’s grip on his wrist in favor of holding his hand. “Let’s take a break for a moment.”

He didn’t say _Let’s stop completely._ Crowley would just try to push past his panic, insisting he was fine when he clearly wasn’t. But it was increasingly likely that neither of them would be getting off this morning.

Aziraphale situated himself to Crowley’s side, half-beside him, half-on top of him. His free hand stroked down Crowley’s cheek. “Just take a minute, dearest,” he murmured, “deep, slow breaths, that’s it, you’re alright…”

Crowley tried to obey. He didn’t usually forget the ‘breathing’ part, but the ‘deep and slow’ part often gave him trouble in times like this. Aziraphale took one of Crowley’s trembling hands, and placed it on his own chest. “Breathe with me, Crowley, just like this…”

That was the ticket. With each movement of Aziraphale’s chest, Crowley did his best to match the rhythm. As the minutes wore on, the room settled, as Crowley collected himself.

Whenever this happened, Aziraphale’s protective impulses kicked in full throttle. Fortunately, it was also when Crowley needed it the most. It wasn’t enough that the Almighty had promised them Her continued protection for eternity; he needed to _feel_ protected. 

Often, that involved Aziraphale holding him in his arms and wings, whispering soft reassurances as Crowley trembled against him. If the hitched sobs and stifled whimpers began, Aziraphale would drape a blanket over them both for extra coverage, and hold him tighter. 

If the whimpers and sobs couldn’t be stifled, or worse, if the _screams_ started…Aziraphale could do nothing but helplessly ride it out with him.

Fortunately, it didn’t come to that this morning. Within ten minutes, Crowley had his breathing under control. (That may not seem like much, but try staying beside your beloved for ten minutes in complete silence, hoping they won’t start screaming. It’s an awful lot longer than you might think.)

One more panic attack averted. Who knew how many more were left to face in the endless years ahead.

Crowley let out a long sigh. “Dammit.”

Aziraphale ran a thumb over the back of Crowley’s hand he still held. “It’s alright—”

“No, it’s _not.”_ Crowley was staring at the ceiling. _Glaring_ at it. “I wanted to do this with you.”

“We don’t have to,” said Aziraphale. 

“But I _want_ to.”

“Well, maybe it’s not meant to happen today!” 

Okay, Aziraphale knew he was getting frustrated again. Crowley was already there: now he was squeezing his eyes shut, his jaw set in a familiar I’m-trying-not-to-lash-out-with-my-trauma-induced-emotions way. 

Aziraphale let go of Crowley’s hand, only to smooth it down that sharp jawline. Crowley didn’t lean into the caress, but he didn’t jerk away, either. (He’d never pulled away from such touches.) “If it’s something you really want,” Aziraphale said softly, “then we’ll get there. I’m sure we will. But like you said, it might not happen on a timetable either of us would prefer.”

Crowley winced at the phrasing. Well, that confirmed to Aziraphale he was trying to force this, because he wanted to be ready for it now.

He didn’t reply. Aziraphale didn’t want to let him stew, but he didn’t know what else he could say that might help. Perhaps there wasn’t any helping the situation. 

What he settled on was softly caressing Crowley’s face in silence. Though Crowley still looked sour, he did end up leaning into the touches. 

There was a rush of wings by the window, as a small flock of pigeons cooed into the sky. Aziraphale hummed absently.

“What?” Crowley asked, still petulant.

“Oh, nothing.”

“Doesn’t sound like nothing.”

“It’s just…it’s said that when birds fly by your window, God is watching over you. And, well, we know that’s completely true, in our case.”

Crowley glared at the window. _“Fuck off, Mum, we’re having a private moment.”_

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Aziraphale burst out laughing. Crowley snapped back to him, as if he was about to turn his ire back to Aziraphale, but it just made Aziraphale laugh harder. He couldn’t help it! All the tension of the last few minutes was bubbling out of him.

Crowley’s mouth twitched. He was clearly trying to look put-out, but the ridiculousness of what he’d said must be catching up to him. “Shut up,” he grumbled. But even he was smiling before he could stop himself.

“She has seen everything the humans have ever done,” Aziraphale laughed. “She’s seen everything _we_ have ever done. This is not the most vulgar thing She has ever witnessed, by a wide margin.”

“That doesn’t change the fact that I don’t want _the literal eyes of God_ on me while you put your fingers on my asshole!”

That sent Aziraphale giggling again. Crowley was chuckling too, shaking his head at their ridiculousness. 

But at least he was relaxing again.

“She is protecting you, you know,” Aziraphale said gently, once his laughter had died down. “She loves you. You’re Her child.”

He would never have claimed such a thing out loud, if the Almighty hadn’t told Crowley Herself two years ago. God was a sore subject for Crowley at the best of times. These days, even Aziraphale found himself asking questions of Her. Questions like, _Why did You let him suffer so much abuse?_ and _Why didn’t You protect him from Hell?_ and _Why make him Fall if You weren’t angry with him?_ and _How dare You claim to love him after all he’s been through!_

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(Okay, the last one wasn’t exactly a question. Aziraphale wasn’t sure if it was more or less dangerous.)

But Crowley didn’t shrug off the reminders of God’s love today. He turned to Aziraphale, his expression unbearably soft. “You’re protecting me, too. You always have.”

Aziraphale heard what was between the lines: _You protected and loved me even when She didn’t show it._

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Crowley looked down. “I should’ve listened to you. Should’ve known I’d freak out if we tried it today.”

“You didn’t know,” Aziraphale soothed. “We couldn’t have known unless we tried it.”

Crowley’s mouth flattened in a grim sort of acceptance. “Guess we know now. No fingering.”

Aziraphale’s heart squeezed painfully to see Crowley so defeated. He didn’t know how to reassure him in the face of reality. All he came up with was to kiss Crowley’s forehead—at least his mouth could do _something_ to help.

Wait.

“Darling, I have an idea.”

“Mm?”

Aziraphale paused. This might be a horrible plan. It probably wasn’t the time to bring up anything on this topic. But before he could stop himself, the words tumbled out: “What if I used my mouth instead of my fingers?”

Crowley stopped breathing.

Aziraphale could see Crowley’s eyes widening at the ceiling, the gold of his irises crowding out all the white. “I-I’m so sorry,” Aziraphale backpedaled, “I shouldn’t have suggested—I don’t know what I was thinking—”

“Nononono,” said Crowley. His voice sounded so rough. “No, I mean, _yes,_ yes, you should do that.”

Aziraphale’s brain screeched to a halt. “What?”

Crowley looked at him, and oh, _oh,_ Crowley wasn’t frozen in fear, he wasn’t panicking, he was _turned on._ “We should do that,” he rasped, _“right fucking now.”_

__

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The intensity of Crowley’s obvious desire was doing similar things to Aziraphale. The yearning in those golden eyes sent a bolt straight to Aziraphale’s cock, making it perk up in renewed interest. He moved toward Crowley, Crowley’s hands were tugging at his shoulders, and he was on top of him again, kissing him with so much fire it nearly burned away the last thirty minutes from his memory.

“ _Fuck,_ angel…” Crowley whispered hoarsely. “That’s gotta be the hottest thing you’ve ever suggested.”

“What, eating you out?”

Crowley groaned. _“Fuck…”_

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Aziraphale had to pause and collect himself. They couldn’t just rush into this; that would yield the same results as their previous foray. He used a quick, subtle miracle to send some blood back to his brain (and hoped Crowley hadn’t noticed). “I’ll be more careful,” he panted. “I’ll have more control, and I won’t go inside—”

Crowley bit his lips, and made a noise not unlike a boiling tea kettle.

“Crowley?”

“You mean inside…with your _tongue…”_

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“Um…yes…?”

Crowley pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes. “Angel.” His voice had never sounded so wrecked. “If you say one more word to describe this, I’m gonna come _right now.”_

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Aziraphale huffed a laugh. Although, from the way Crowley’s cock was twitching against his stomach, it wasn’t a joke at all.

But Aziraphale had more to say. He gently took Crowley’s hands, removing them from his face, to meet those fully-golden, desperate eyes. “If you need me to stop at any point, or slow down, or change what I’m doing, I need you to tell me. Yes?”

“Yeah,” said Crowley breathlessly.

“I mean it. This isn’t about meeting some milestone. This isn’t a box we have to check off.”

Something softened in Crowley’s face. For a second, he looked so much younger. Innocent, almost. Like he had before the Great Flood.

“I know,” Crowley murmured.

Aziraphale smiled down at him. He kissed his love, slowly, sweeter than all the angelic choruses in Heaven. Crowley gave as good as he got.

When Aziraphale withdrew, it was only to kiss Crowley’s chin. Then his neck. Then down his chest. He’d ventured his way down Crowley’s front this way before, but never with their clothes off. Still, he wanted Crowley to be covered, so he ended up disappearing under the blankets as he kissed his way down. He could feel how fast Crowley’s heart was pounding against his ribs. Crowley sighed audibly, and buried his hands in Aziraphale’s hair, urging him on.

Crowley flinched and squeaked when Aziraphale kissed just above his belly button. “Tickles!”

Aziraphale grinned. “Noted.”

“Oh, don’t you _dare.”_

__

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Aziraphale wouldn’t, not if Crowley explicitly told him not to. Still. It was good to keep in mind.

He didn’t linger at Crowley’s cock for too long. They’d only recently started pleasing each other orally, but Aziraphale knew if he did too much of that this morning, it would all be over before they’d begun. All he did this time was give the tip of his cock a sweet kiss—which still had Crowley choking on a moan.

He spent more time at Crowley’s balls. He sucked them one at a time into his mouth, rolling them around his tongue with pleased hums. Even with how he was buried under the covers in this position, he could see Crowley’s back bowing as he whined.

He withdrew, to see the lay of the land, as it were. Crowley had spread his legs wide to accommodate him. His balls were shining with saliva.

And below them, that small pucker was winking at Aziraphale.

He stilled. 

_They would spread me open, and just_ look _at me, like I was a damn insect._

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He shifted to kiss Crowley’s knee where it was propped up above him. It didn’t work to distract himself from the memories Crowley had once recounted to him, weeping the details into his chest.

No hiding from it, then. So Aziraphale looked. The skin there was pink and curled up tight. It looked so _delicate._

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__

_They’d pull me apart with their thumbs afterward, just to hear me scream. It would tear me even more, I could_ feel _it…_

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Aziraphale remembered seeing it torn. The skin had been red and swollen, blood gleaming in thin lines from within. On the bus ride from Hell’s office entrance to the bookshop, Crowley hadn’t even been able to sit properly. He’d rested sideways on his hip—and that hip had had a deep gash on it. But it had still been the less painful option. 

He slid a hand over to hold one of Crowley’s. When he squeezed, Crowley squeezed back. Crowley’s chest was heaving in anticipation.

Aziraphale inched forward. As he went, he layered slow, sweet kisses up Crowley’s thigh, onto his buttock. Once he started to reach the juncture, he kissed the inside of the other buttock. This way, Crowley would know where his mouth was as he worked in closer.

He heard a quiet breath of a sigh from Crowley. “Angel…”

“Keep going?”

“Mm-hm.”

He kissed the crease between thigh and buttock again, before nosing his way in through the sparse hair, toward his goal.

When his mouth was an inch away, his breath ghosted warm over the pink skin. It flexed before his eyes. Crowley squeezed his hand. He squeezed back.

This was one of the most intimate places to harm a human body. And because it was so personal, it could be used to degrade and humiliate like nothing else could.

How Aziraphale touched him now _had_ to be different.

Aziraphale leaned in, closed his eyes, and pressed the softest, most tender kiss to Crowley’s flesh.

The muscle jumped under his lips. Aziraphale held himself there, hoping all his affection and love was transmitted the way he thought it was. This was how he had kissed Crowley’s _lips_ for the first time, when everything had been soft and tender and dizzying with how much they’d longed for it. While this wasn’t the same, it had enough similarities. It was still riding that knife’s edge between potential healing and harming, and Aziraphale had to make sure it fell firmly on the side they both wanted.

His lips made the same soft _smack_ as any other kiss, when he withdrew from Crowley’s flesh. He could see the pink ring twitching. The cock above it was _dripping_ fluid.

He heard an audible wheeze of gulped-in air. Apparently, Crowley had started breathing again. Apparently he’d _stopped_ breathing before this.

“Alright?” Aziraphale asked.

Crowley was heaving in breath. “Keep…keep going.” Aziraphale didn’t know how Crowley managed to form any words at all, with a voice that hoarse. “Angel, _please.”_

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Something cold settled in Aziraphale’s stomach for a second.

Crowley had begged angels before. He’d begged them to _stop_ what they were doing to him.

But there were two differences here:

One, he was begging this angel to _keep going._

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__

And two, no matter what Crowley asked for in their bed, this angel would _always_ listen to him.

Aziraphale gave another kiss, achingly slow. _Smack,_ went his lips as they left Crowley’s skin. Another kiss. _Smack._ Another kiss. _Smack._

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Crowley gave a strangled sob. His hand squeezed Aziraphale’s so tightly it hurt.

Aziraphale kept going. He layered kisses all around the space between Crowley’s buttocks, over the fluttering, quivering muscle of his hole. He nosed through the hair, through the musk of Crowley’s sweat. 

His kisses soon grew deeper. He started sucking on Crowley’s hole, drawing the skin of his rim toward his mouth. Not hard enough to leave hickeys down there, but enough to hear more of Crowley’s sobbing little moans. 

He was drooling now. His saliva was making a _mess_ of Crowley. Mixed with Crowley’s sweat, it shone in what little light filtered through the blanket. Aziraphale realized he was making small noises, like he did when he ate something delicious. (And wasn’t that what he was doing now?)

Crowley had been right: this was a _wonderful_ idea. 

The act itself— _eating ass_ —should have been filthy. But it wasn’t.

What Crowley’s torturers had done was filthy. They’d defiled and humiliated him. They’d taken Crowley’s safety and dignity, his sense of security in his own body, and they’d torn it all to shreds. _That_ had been a depraved and disgusting act.

But this? This was the complete opposite.

Crowley was willingly exposing himself, sharing the most vulnerable parts of his person. And he was doing it with _trust._ He knew Aziraphale wouldn’t rip him to pieces, but would cradle his soul in his hands, and lavish nothing on him but affection and care. He trusted Aziraphale would only give him pleasure and joy, and only in the ways he _asked_ for.

Aziraphale pressed another long, slow kiss, directly on Crowley’s hole. It contracted again beneath his lips. Crowley _whined._

__

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“Alright?” Aziraphale asked.

Crowley didn’t respond for a second. Aziraphale waited, holding Crowley’s hand as he wheezed in breath. He heard a rustle of Crowley’s head against the pillows. Then, a hoarse, “ _Fuck,_ yes.”

“More?”

_“Please.”_

__

__

Crowley tilted his hips. Aziraphale first thought Crowley was just getting more comfortable, but he quickly realized Crowley was _presenting himself_ more fully. With his legs spread wide, his hips tilted up, his hole clenching and unclenching involuntarily…

Aziraphale had to pinch himself to make sure he wasn’t dreaming. Crowley was a _vision._

__

__

He squeezed Crowley’s hand. Crowley squeezed back. 

With that, Aziraphale returned to his feast, kissing and sucking and drooling all over Crowley’s most intimate parts. Crowley started pushing his hips toward Aziraphale, still squeezing his hand, still heaving in ragged breaths.

Aziraphale didn’t know what seized on him to use his tongue. But the next moment, he was laving the flat of it over Crowley’s hole, gasping as he felt it flex under his touch. Crowley’s choked-off sob nearly did Aziraphale in.

“Angel,” Crowley babbled, “angel, please, do that again, angel, _please—”_

__

__

Aziraphale did him one better: he leaned in lower, and licked a long stripe from Crowley’s tailbone, up his entire crack, past his hole, all the way to his balls. Crowley _shouted._ His long, drawn-out whine ended in a trembling, ragged little sob.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale breathed.

But Crowley wasn’t coherent anymore. He was still moaning, babbling out syllables without any sense. Instead, he reached his free hand that wasn’t holding Aziraphale’s, and clutched Aziraphale’s head closer to him.

Aziraphale heeded the instructions. He started licking again. He peppered kisses all over Crowley’s hole, sucked them against his flesh, licked circles around the flexing muscle, drooled all over his crack. He nuzzled his face into the warm cleft with a hum. He never liked to do things he loved by half; he fully dove into the experience, making love to Crowley in every sense of the phrase.

Crowley’s hand clenched his in a death grip. Aziraphale had never heard him make noises like this—little whines and sobs that were quickly rising in pitch and volume. He’d heard him cry before, in sorrow, in terror, in frustration. He’d heard him make little mewls of pleasure when they’d previously made love. But he’d never sounded this out of control, let alone this _vulnerable._

__

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Aziraphale slurped up some of his own drool. He dove back in with more kisses and licks. He burrowed as far in as he could go, sucking as much of Crowley’s rim into his mouth as he could, releasing it with a loud _pop_ before doing it again— 

Crowley suddenly gave a high, keening moan. His hole started spasming under Aziraphale’s lips, buttocks trembling around his face.

Warmth curled in Aziraphale’s stomach as he realized what was happening.

He stayed there, pressing a slow kiss to Crowley’s quivering hole, gentling him. He stayed until the spasms tapered off through the aftershocks, as Crowley wheezed and sobbed his way through it.

As the trembling slowed, Aziraphale withdrew. He looked at Crowley’s hole, flushed pink from the attentions ( _not red, not torn_ ) and shining with saliva ( _not with blood_ ). He gently kissed it again, careful not to press too hard while Crowley was so sensitive.

With one last kiss, Aziraphale rose back up. He passed where Crowley’s cock lay soft and spent against his belly. His come had splattered all over his stomach and heaving chest. One stripe had even made it up to his collarbone—Crowley must have come _hard._ Aziraphale cleaned it away with a wave of his hand.

His head emerged from the blankets as he leaned back over Crowley. “I take it that was—”

He cut himself off as he saw Crowley’s face.

Crowley’s cheeks were streaked with tears. When he looked up at Aziraphale, his golden eyes were still swimming with them. He looked so small, so vulnerable, as his lip quivered and another tear fell.

He hadn’t just been sobbing with pleasure. He’d been, well, _sobbing._

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Dread settled cold in Aziraphale’s middle. “Crowley, I’m so sorry,” he breathed, “I should have—”

Crowley shook his head. His hands came up to settle on Aziraphale’s face. “It was perfect,” he whispered. “It was _perfect.”_

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Then Aziraphale understood. Crowley’s tears weren’t from shame or violation. They were from the overwhelm of how _good_ this had been. Aziraphale had made love to him so well, it had made him _weep._

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Aziraphale smiled. Crowley tried to return it, but he just started sobbing again. 

“Oh, my darling,” Aziraphale soothed. “Come here.” He situated himself on his side, and folded Crowley into his arms. Crowley huddled there willingly, shaking with quiet sobs against Aziraphale’s chest.

They stayed there, Aziraphale holding him securely, protectively. “Shhhhh, it’s alright,” Aziraphale whispered, “my dearest love, you’re alright…” He rubbed Crowley’s back, whispering his endearments, until Crowley was only sniffling against his chest.

This activity—Aziraphale holding Crowley while he cried—wasn’t new for them. But usually, it was because Crowley was overwhelmed by his traumatic reactions. They’d never done this while naked, and never because Crowley was so moved by how _loved_ he was. For Aziraphale, it was a welcome change.

But it did have an unforeseen consequence: as Crowley moved to cuddle closer, his leg brushed against Aziraphale’s cock. Aziraphale gasped; he’d forgotten how hard he still was. Even Crowley’s tears hadn’t made his erection flag completely.

Crowley glanced down. “Oh, right. Forgot.”

He reached down. Aziraphale, realizing what he was about to do, gently grabbed his forearm to stop him in his tracks. 

“Don’t,” he murmured. At Crowley’s questioning glance, Aziraphale smiled gently. “Don’t worry yourself about that.” He folded Crowley into his arms again, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “You don’t owe me anything.”

Crowley moved to look Aziraphale in the eye again. Aziraphale waited for a sarcastic remark, but none came. Instead, Crowley just stared at him for a second, his eyes still shining with tears. His lip quivered as he looked at Aziraphale, with some emotion Aziraphale couldn’t name. Something between incredulity and awe.

“I owe you _everything,”_ Crowley whispered.

Aziraphale pressed his own lips together. For a second, he could only stare at those grateful, loving eyes, shining at him with six thousand years’ worth of memories of an angel’s kindness.

Aziraphale cupped Crowley’s cheek in his hand, brushing away the tearstains, catching another tear as it fell. “Not this,” he whispered. “ _Never_ this.”

Crowley gasped in another soft sob. Aziraphale tucked him into his arms again, letting him quietly weep into his chest.

“You know those three things you’re always telling me you want me to feel?” Crowley rasped. 

Aziraphale smiled. “You mean, ‘safe, loved, and cherished’?”

Crowley nodded against his chest. He sniffed loudly. “Definitely feeling all those things right now.”

Aziraphale’s smile turned so bright, it could’ve outshone the sun. He hugged Crowley closer to him. Crowley did the same.

This morning had certainly not gone as expected. Aziraphale had thought he and Crowley might’ve lazily brought each other off, then have a lie-in till noon. He hadn’t expected the arguments, or the almost-panic attack, or the activities they’d ended up trying. He certainly hadn’t anticipated it ending in happy tears.

But, if it ended with Crowley feeling ‘what Aziraphale always said he wanted him to feel’, bundled in Aziraphale’s arms while feeling safe, and loved, and cherished…

Well, then it was more than worth it.

**Author's Note:**

> At some point I will publish the full-length story of what happened to Crowley in Hell, how Aziraphale found him, how they healed afterward, etc. Some of those chapters are already written. But it's taking a long time, and I wanted to write this scene instead :)


End file.
